Who Will Love a Little Robin?
by Dedicatedfollower467
Summary: Four short fics regarding the relationship between the Robins and their father. Based on the song "Who Will Love a Little Sparrow?" by Simon and Garfunkel. Warning: Fourth chapter will deal with Jason Todd's death.
1. Not I Said the Oak Tree

A/N: This collection of stories was inspired by the song "Who Will Love a Little Sparrow?" by Simon and Garfunkel. It's one of my favorite songs by them, and for some reason it makes me think of the Robins! Enjoy!

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_Who will love a little sparrow, who's traveled far and cries for rest? ~ Simon and Garfunkel_

There's a very old, gnarled oak tree that stands on Wayne family grounds. His father says it has "character," and that's why it's never been removed. The oak is probably at least several decades old, if not centuries, and it looks twisted and ugly, as though something had crushed it when it was smaller, and so it had become nasty and vindictive in its old age.

Damian finds himself sitting in it sometimes. When being a Wayne and a Robin and trying to make his father proud all become too much. When he feels with distinct clarity the fact that this is not the place where he was born. When he becomes inexplicably homesick for an exquisite mansion-compound in the Middle East.

That's when he comes to this hideous tree, climbs into its branches, and tries to rest within its ugliness.

If he's honest with himself, it's not a very restful place, and it doesn't much remind him of the place where he was born and raised. The knots and curls in the branches make any position uncomfortable, and the shapes of the leaves over his head feel menacing and enclosing.

But he can guarantee that it's one spot no one else will ever steal from him, because Dick thinks it's hideous, Drake is secretly scared of it, Alfred just wants to cut the thing down, and his father spends too much time inside wrapped up in his work to care.

He lies in its branches, wearing his hoodie and jeans, and listens to the loudest, angriest rappers he can find on his iPod. All the while his heart breaks inside of him, yearning for someone to see his need and comfort him.

But his pride is too strong to let anyone see his need of care and kindness, so he buries it deep inside the ugly tree and the hoodie and the angry rappers and the earbuds.

One night after a day spent convalescing, Damian falls asleep in the oak.

So he doesn't know when his father comes out looking for him, doesn't see his father's soft smile. Doesn't feel it when his father lifts him gently in his arms, doesn't hear it when his father shuts off the iPod. Doesn't react when his father brings him into the house, or when his father pulls the hoodie off over his head. He is senseless as his father puts him into pajamas and tucks him into bed.

Damian just sighs in a contented dream when Bruce leans over his son's bed, kisses his forehead, and whispers, "Rest well, son."


	2. Not I Said the Swan

_Who will love a little sparrow, and who will speak a kindly word? ~ Simon and Garfunkel_

Technically, it's called the Gotham City Zoo Duck Pond, but that doesn't mean that ducks are the only creatures living there. Geese hang out there all time, with the little sandpipers and wading birds. Silver fish dart back and forth through the water, swallows zip and dive overhead, and large green frogs breathe rapidly and glare out from wide staring eyes.

Dick comes for the swans.

Elegant, graceful, pure, a marvelous pair of nesting swans has lived in the pond since Dick can remember coming to the zoo. He loves to stand on the bottom of the railing, arms braced against the top, and lean over, watching the white birds glide serenely across the water.

He's never heard a swan call, and he's pretty sure he never will. Although he knows that the tale of a swan song is a myth, he also knows that the big birds are notoriously silent. They don't sing for just anybody, especially not little human boys with dead parents and an obsession with flying.

Still. It's nice to sit and watch them go by. Dick isn't the kind of person who dwells on sadness or the past, and sometimes visiting the pond is his way to think forward, to look to the future and the good times ahead.

It's been a long time since he's visited the pond, and today he can't think up a way to feel positive or optimistic.

He screwed up. Badly. And now he's lost a friend, lost Bruce's trust, and he knows nothing will ever be the same again.

Dick was supposed to be the one in charge, who should have foreseen the problems and the consequences. He knew that he had failed, and there was no one to blame but himself.

The swans looked cold and distant as they swam along the far edge of the pond; silent and beautiful and disapproving.

Dick doesn't want to be lied to, doesn't want to be told he did the right thing when he knew he screwed up, but he needs someone to reassure him, to tell him that someone approves of him and thinks he did the best he could. That's not going to happen; nobody he knows would placate him. No one knows that he needs the words of praise the same way a junkie needs his next hit.

Bruce comes to stand beside him and watch the swans swimming at the far side of the lake. There's a dull silence between the two of them. Dick knows he failed Bruce; there's nothing he can say to change that.

But he still has to say something. "I'm sorry," Dick whispers.

Bruce sighs, shifts, and looks at Dick. Dick can't hold his gaze for long and stares, ashamed, out at the swans.

"No, I'm sorry, Dick," says Bruce. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there. And even sorrier that you feel the need to apologize to me."

Bruce's hand rests on his shoulder, which surprises Dick, because Bruce generally doesn't initiate physical contact.

"I'm proud of you, Dick," Bruce says, "I always will be."

Dick throws his arms around Bruce and sobs into his chest.

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A/N: Dick's feeling of failure here aren't related to any particular story; I just figure he can't always be the perfect leader, and in his line of work, things have to have gone badly wrong at some point or another. Feel free to connect this with any story you'd like!


	3. Not I Said the Golden Wheat

_And who will take pity in his heart, and who will feed a starving sparrow? ~ Simon and Garfunkel_

It's Tim's first Thanksgiving as a member of the Wayne household, and he has to admit that he's surprised at the decorations. Bruce isn't the kind of person Tim would think would decorate the house for holidays, so he's pretty certain that the leaves and miniature turkeys and bunches of wheat are all Alfred's idea.

Rather absentmindedly, he picks up one of the sheaves of wheat and begins to rub it between his thumb and forefinger. It's dry and crackles slightly beneath his fingers. There isn't even any of the clean, golden scent of wheat left; this is dead and has a slightly musty smell. It probably sits in the attic all year except for a single week in November.

Tim sighs and sets the wheat back down on the table, glancing around. He feels alone in this big house where he doesn't belong. It shouldn't be this hard to transition. He's been coming here almost every night since he was just a kid. He knows Bruce, he knows Dick, he knows Alfred; these people are already his family, except now they're legally his family.

Maybe he only feels this way because this is the first Thanksgiving he's had to celebrate without his father. Tim knows that the first holidays after losing people you love are difficult, but knowing and expecting isn't preparing him for the reality of it. It's difficult to find something to be thankful for right now, when even the wheat decorations are dead.

The smell of Alfred's cooking wafts into the room, and his stomach grumbles quietly. Tim sighs. He's hungry – his body needs sustenance, and he's reacting instinctively to the smell of good food cooking. It smells delicious. It smells like Thanksgiving.

It smells like home, and Tim doesn't want to eat.

He's hungry and not hungry at the same time. Although his body is saying that it needs food and it would quite like to sample some of Alfred's savory dressing, his heart is whispering that he's too beaten up, too shaken, too out of place. Eating Thanksgiving dinner without his father will make the turkey taste dry, the dressing too mushy, the potatoes tasteless. Because Tim knows how his emotions affect his taste buds; he's been choking down old comfort foods for a month now, barely able to get past the memories.

He can hear Dick laughing in the kitchen – Alfred is probably trying to fend him off with a spoon. Tim sighs and sits down on the couch, wondering if this will ever feel normal to him.

Bruce suddenly enters the doorway and stands, smiling at Tim. It's a surprisingly open smile, and Tim can't help but return it, though Tim's is a little weak thanks to the way he feels.

Bruce crosses the room quietly and sits down on the couch next to Tim. "It's okay," Bruce says.

"What?" says Tim.

"It's okay to be upset," says Bruce. "Holidays are difficult after you've lost someone you love."

Tim looks up at Bruce a little incredulously, because this is _Bruce_ talking about _feelings_. "Yeah," he finally answers, sighing.

Bruce stands. "It's almost time for dinner," he says, extending his hand, "Let's go eat."

Tim takes the hand offered as he gets up, smiling more genuinely when Bruce leads him into the dining room, already set.

The food smells delicious, and he will be eating Thanksgiving dinner with his father.

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A/N: I've never been sure exactly how long Tim's dad was dead before Bruce adopted him or what time of year Jackson Drake was killed. And I also don't know how long it took before Connor and Bart and Stephanie and Bruce all "died." So basically what I'm saying is I'm sorry if the timeline is screwy.


	4. I Will Said the Earth

_Who will love a little sparrow? Will no one write her eulogy? ~ Simon and Garfunkel_

Bruce holds a single handful of soil in his hand and can't believe what's happening.

Because it can't be happening.

It's impossible. He can't be standing here, watching a coffin too small to be built for anyone but a child, be lowered into the ground.

It's not possible that he has to stand by and watch as another body is buried on Wayne grounds.

Not possible that he has to see as his son is laid to rest.

And he's not crying, because this is impossible. It's a dream. Any minute now, he'll wake up – crying, sobbing, terrified – but he will wake up. And the first thing he'll do when he wakes up is run to Jason's room and check on his boy, his son, make sure that he's alive and his heart is beating and he isn't being lowered in a casket into a hole in the ground.

And Jason probably won't get it, probably won't understand, probably won't like the sudden hug and the intense lecture he will get, but Bruce will have reassured himself that he hasn't lost his son.

His breath is shuddering now, though he's not crying yet, and Dick has placed a hand on his back to steady him.

Bruce doesn't want to feel that touch, because if he can feel that touch that means this isn't a dream.

It's a nightmare, but it's not a dream.

That's his Jason, his son, being buried.

The dirt in his hand mocks him. Another member of his family is being buried, being consumed and swallowed by the earth. Except this time it's his son who is leaving him, taken away from him forever. Rather than the parents who protected him, this is the child he should have been protecting. The boy who deserved so much more than to die abandoned and betrayed far from his home.

The tears started to leak out and Bruce can't control his breathing anymore, isn't even trying. He lets out shuddering gasps that make his whole body tremble. Dick's hand is still strong and steady on his back but it's not helping. It just makes him feel worse to realize that his eldest son is trying to comfort him as his little brother is buried.

Bruce knows they're not legally father and son, and neither were he and Jason, but he was so prepared, so ready to love them as his own. And now he's not sure he'll ever be able to love again, because his heart is being damaged beyond repair.

Dick is the one who guides Bruce's hand over the grave, and Bruce opens it, allows the cruel, uncaring earth to begin the process of consuming his child.

When the service is over Dick leaves, but Bruce waits behind, watches as the dirt is solemnly piled on, and Jason is lost to him forever.

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A/N: I'm sorry about how terribly sad this one is. I feel like these chapters got progressively sadder as they went on. I hope none of you became depressed as you read this.


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